Grade 10 was hands down the greatest year of my High School experience. Once again, I played JV soccer and this time our team melded together flawlessly. We had the kind of chemistry coaches dream about, everyone got along and loved one another in a non-sexual manner (I guess that's obvious). The team really embraced my foolishness, and we'd spend van trips to St. John and Moncton prank calling poor unsuspecting people, piling on top of each other in the back seat of the fifteen-passenger vehicle, and talking about inappropriate inuendoes and scenarios, and all the while I thought about how our coach must have the patience of a man who practices regular meditation.
During an away trip the boys got me on the phone and I started calling miscellaneous numbers. Everyone waited in anticipation as the dial tone mutated into a ring, an elderly woman answered the phone (at least she sounded elderly) and I proceeded to tell her about the company I was representing, it was called "Sexuality and You", and that we were conducting a survey, "would you like to take part in our survey I asked?". Surprisingly, the woman said "yes". I paused for a moment and then asked her about oral sex, play-toys and I even told her that cumming on the side of her house might be a good way to spice up her sex life....Yeah, I don't get it either. The boys loved it though! So many good memories of tournaments and victories and fits of hilarity, and although we were a good team from the start, our season was also a bit of an underdog story.
At the beginning of the season we didn't think we were anything special. We lost to Mathieu Martin of Dieppe, New Brunswick 7-0. If you know soccer, that is an absolute slaughter. We were pretty bummed out after, but over the course of the season we began to improve. We had grit, passion and started establishing some forward momentum.
The Soccer Season only lasted two to three months, but despite the constraint of time, we managed to play every team in our division at least once, and found ourselves in an advantageous position moving into the playoffs. The first couple of teams we were matched up against we defeated with ease, until we faced Fredericton High School (FHS). We were tied 1-1 late into the second half as I made my way down the right side of the field deicing my way in and around opponents on my way towards the net. When the ball rolled over the goal line, I realized what an odd goal it had been, I almost walked the ball into the net, but who cares, we were now up 2-1, and that ended up being the final score, so that's all that really matters.
Since we defeated FHS we were off to provincials. My teammates and I were all well aware of who our first opponent would be in the semi-finals, we'd be facing Mathieu Martin, the team that systematically destroyed our team's testosterone and curbed our will to live. So, yes, the Leo Hayes Lions (our team) went head to head with Mathieu Martin...the team that obliterated our egos, stomped on our scrotums, gnawed on our greasy pubic beards, impaled our buttholes, and slapped our firm rumps. You get the point. Mentally and physically, we were primed. There was an odd feeling about the game. I sensed that everyone on our team was one hundred percent plugged in, one hundred percent set on keeping mistakes to a minimum, and dead set on not repeating the past. About two thirds into the game we got a free kick within striking distance of their goal. Andrew; who took the free kick, struck the ball with pristine perfection, the ball rose high into the sky rotating cyclically to the left as it drifted just over the goalies outstretched arms and into the back of the net. Suddenly we had the lead. None of us really felt like we'd find ourselves in this position, nevertheless we stayed tight on the ball, frustrated the opposition, continued to hear indiscernible frustrating French words from our opponent, until we found ourselves the elated victors of a hard-fought 2-1 game. "Suck on that you ball busters! How do you like me now?!"
Before the provincial finals my Dad told me that if we won the match, he would buy me a new pair of sneakers. This might lead you to believe that if I played well, we would most certainly win. A key component of the team? Yes, I was. But in soccer the whole squad has to be jelling in order to win the match, and Nepisiquit was a formidable opponent.
It felt almost hypnogogic to be in the provincial final, as if we were separate from time and space. The only sound seemed to be the touch of the ball. Minutes passed like seconds and as the game expired, we found ourselves tied 1-1. The game would be decided by a shootout. There were five players from each team chosen to take part. I was not amongst them, which was fine with me. I stood on the sidelines amongst my other teammates and looked on with curiosity and a consistent sense of utter calamity. As far as I can remember we won the shootout 5-3. Filled with elation and an exasperated exhilaration we piled on top of one another in a state of sweaty shock.
The team that lost 7-0 at the beginning of the season were now the provincial champions. To top it all off... I got a new pair of shiny, sleek, supercilious sneakers.
I am so grateful for the opportunity to play with the players that made up the Leo Hayes JV Soccer Team that year. We were made up of mostly Grade Nine players and a few Grade Ten's. Each and every player on the team made me feel totally comfortable being myself. As a result of their kindness my personality was able to come out one hundred percent (so many one hundred percent's). Along with the "family feel" our team emanated, we were also blessed with a benevolent, humble and altruistic coach who allowed us to gel in a natural way. I don't believe that we were technically the most talented team. What we did have was passion, we had each other's backs and we carried a natural love for the game that wasn't shadowed by ego or bullying in any way. Each of us felt like we belonged and were fully appreciated. It was evident we had talent, and a lot of it, but the x-factor was definitely the respect and kindness that bound us together. This key component of a winning team cannot be overlooked from a psychological standpoint for any coach that wishes to have a strong cohesive squad.
All three sports seasons I participated in during High school overlapped one another. At the end of the soccer season I was already trying out for the JV basketball team. There was a new head coach, his name was Zach. He was loud and authoritative, and a little intimidating. Zach had two assistant coaches that helped out where needed, both of these dudes seemed to be fairly chill. During the previous year when I opted out of playing basketball it felt like something important was missing. Even though I was frightened and worried about being able to complete the season without quitting, it was not an option to talk myself out of playing before starting.
My choice to leave the bantam team when Fred was still my coach in Middle School left an imprint on the confidence I carried to complete a given task. So, as I made my way to center court to begin tryouts, there was an unsettled shakiness that teetered on uncertainty. When drills began to be administered, I realized right from the get go that Zach's vocal dominance was steered towards motivation and an expectation that each player give their all on the floor. His words were not rooted in condemnation and shame. Now this, I could roll with.
The coaches seemed to have a confidence in me that was contagious. They wrote up a play called "white" (no, not named after my mentally ill cat) that was created to give me, or whomever else was the shooter, an open shot.
Our first game was against a strong Woodstock team. I can't recall whether we won the game or not, but I do remember knocking down a few shots. You see prior to this season I was labelled a "slasher" by my previous coach; Fred. A slasher as previously stated is someone who only drives the ball to the basket. My new coach's saw my shooting capabilities and started to utilize them, so when I started knocking down shots it filled me with excitement and a newfound sense of efficacy.
The theme of team comradery and chemistry carried forward. At the beginning of the season our potential was nowhere near its peak, but with the coaches help we worked our asses off to realize our potential.
It was now around the end of December, about halfway through our season and our uptown rivals FHS (Black Cats) were hosting a basketball tournament. The opening night we were scheduled to play the host team. It was the second half and I was playing tight defense on one of their starting guards. While shuffling my feel I made a wrong step and placed my right calve right in front of his oncoming knee. Both of us toppled to the floor. My kneejerk reaction was to stand up immediately and continue to play; adrenaline allowed me to do so. We ended up losing by ten points in a hard-fought game.
After the match concluded there was a scheduled dance that all teams could attend. It was during my escapades on the dance floor that I realized how badly wounded my calve had been. It had blown up into a massive swollen bulbous of inflammation. Some of my teammates helped me walk out of the building as the effects of the injury seemed to jump on me like a horny baboon.
I ended up taking two months off from playing basketball. It took so much longer for me to heal than anticipated. There was a very real pressure on me to return to tip top shape. The team was good, but the coach said that without my scoring ability they were unable to win. After weeks of frustration I made my epic return. Donald Trump was there to cheer me on. Unfortunately, he was forced to leave due to the draft from the ceiling fans that made his hair talk like a Muppet on crack. Furthermore, several children had mistaken him for an Oompa Loompa and began harassing him for candy and verbally pressuring him to sing a clever song rooted in some moral lesson.
The first team we played after my resurrection was St. Malachy's High School in St. John, New Brunswick. When the game had finished ,I noticed a bit of a cold response when interacting with the coaches afterward. I only scored four points during the game and was basically a ghost on the floor. Their reaction to the effort I put forth was warranted; nervous and unsure of myself, I hid from possession of the basketball like an indecisive manic squirrel crossing the road.
We had five games left in the regular season, if we were to make the playoffs, we had to win four out of the five matches. Our next opponent would be Sussex High School.
There was a different energy present prior to gameplay, during our warm-up I wasn't joking around, there was a healthy nervousness, an emotional discipline that held me and propelled our team into gameplay. We knew we had to win, and I knew my demeanor had to be totally different if we were to come out on top. I no longer worried about being a ball hog, there was a steadfast internal feeling that told me what needed to be done if we were going to defeat Sussex. Possession after possession we fought and scored readily. We were a beast to be reckoned with on defense and on offense I was clicking in a way I never had before. By the end of the game we defeated Sussex by fifteen and I had scored thirty-three points. The game really taught me the importance of game-day mentality.
—Introspection—
There were many games growing up where I would embody a sense of carelessness, and what can only be interpreted as laziness to the casual watcher. These were the games when I refused to take the risk of giving one hundred percent of myself due to the fear that all of myself would never be enough.
Drives home with my Dad were filled with personal mutiny and despair. I would take out my frustrations on the only thing that seemed practical; myself. I'd just talk about how awful I played and how I was a complete non-factor. Dad would get perturbed by these constant negative statements and would sometimes reply by agreeing with what I was saying; really though, what else was there to do. Usually he tried to give me positive affirmations that I'd immediately dismiss.
I can remember Dad telling me that he made a firm resolution to do everything in his power to make sure that my sense of self was completely different from his own. Interestingly enough, so much of my sense of self is congruent with his. God, I was so wrapped up in egotism; it can infect and impede equanimity like a disease. And now I find that time and again I'm reminded of the burden and immense suffering of a self-centered life. We all experience it, and know it all too well. Sometimes it passes over us in waves that circumvent consciousness until we are totally wrapped up in arrogance and the "what can I get out of this" mentality. Soon, we are completely enthralled until finally our pain-body triggers an awakening, and we once again, work to become free. Free from the burden of the almighty "I".
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We won the rest of our games during the regular season and managed to just squeeze into the playoffs as the last seed. Our first opponent in the quarter finals was Bernice McNaughton High School from Moncton, New Brunswick. They were the number one seeded team from the other division. McNaughton was a formidable opponent and they seemed to have a good chemistry about them. When I would drive down the lane and attempt to score a close-range basket there was always a 6'8 giant that needed to be contended with. I could usually weave my way around him or dish the ball to a teammate of mine.
During that game our defense was seamless. Game in and game out we were consistently motivated to exhaust the other team defensively and that's where we seemed to acquire most of our forward momentum. We ended up defeating them by ten points, which left much of their team perplexed and embittered. Our team was elated and the victory emboldened the propulsion of continued victory. Leo Hayes was off to the semi-finals.
The team we were up against was Riverview High School. We hadn't played them during the regular season so this would be our first and last meeting of the year. From the opening tip-off they had this short, quick, fiery point guard defending me. I tried to free myself offensively for quick catch and shoots and potential back-door cuts, but this dude was on me like glitter in a daycare. I had to push off him to free myself in order to catch the ball and get into attack mode. Both teams were playing hard-nosed, right in your face kind of defense.
The two bleacher sections in the gym were packed, as it was quite rare for a Leo Hayes ball club to make it this far in provincial competition. Time after time we challenged them offensively. There were no easy buckets. The lead changed several times over the course of the two halves.
Fast forward to the final minutes and we were up by a single point. I had possession of the ball and quickly made my way to half court inside of ten seconds. Just as I was passing the half court line the ball was stripped from my hands and they went down to score a quick basket. Our coach called timeout, and we inbounded the ball at midcourt. We worked the ball around the perimeter as the seconds blurred by; the ball was passed to me on the far-right corner of the court, by the baseline. I pivoted on my right foot, jabbed with my left and drove baseline to the basket; I jumped a few feet from the right side of the rim and dished the ball into one of my teammates for a quick lay-up. He jumped instantly, as this particular player was really fast on his feet; the ball left his hands and ... he missed the point blank lay-up, and as our team sunk into the devastation of what had just taken place, Riverview grabbed the rebound and made their way down court for another quick score. They now took a commanding three point lead with seconds left on the clock. Our point guard dribbled the ball down court and shot a desperation three and it rimmed out. The buzzer sounded and the game was over. We were heartbroken.
Our coach chatted with us after the game and made sure that we knew he was proud of us for the effort we gave. We went home disappointed, but not regretful by any means. We gave it our best, and just came up short. A fitting end to a season marked by grit, a wonderfully gelled team, and a master coaching dynamic.
(Flashback) (Just a couple months settle down)
There was an incident during mid-basketball-season that stands out for me, and wanted to share it before moving onto the final sport of the school year. A fellow teammate and I decided to create an event during our road trip to Florenceville, New Brunswick called "JV Idol". Both of us memorized three songs and would perform them in front of the basketball team. Our team checked into a roadside Motel; the entrances to the rooms were outside next to the parking lot. Everyone piled into our Motel room and prepared themselves for the upcoming entertainment.
My good friend Scott helped me to shake the nerves and to get motivated with an earth-shattering motivational speech deep from the depths of his courageous heart. He also helped me wrap a t-shirt around my head for stage presence.
I stepped out in front of the JV basketball team who were all seated in various positions across the two double beds. My teammate Mike and I sang all three of our songs one after the other. I sang "asshole" by Dennis Leary, "When a Man Loves a Woman" by Michael Bolton and "I believe I can fly" by R. Kelly. Unfortunately, the only song I can remember that Mike sang was "Lunch Lady Land" by Adam Sandler. It was a tight race and the deal breaker for me was when I forgot the lyrics to "When a Man Loves a Woman". Mike did a beautiful job performing, not to mention he used a deeply seductive guitar to wow the audience.
You'd think that the boys would have made fun of us or interrupted our performances, but they were respectful and attentive. Quite impressive really, for a bunch of fifteen-year-olds.
Interesting what you remember from your adolescence, I really miss and love the feeling of belonging you get from such a wonderful set of teammates. Grade Ten was my absolute favorite year of High School, and is the one year out of four that I wanted to share with you (Yes, you Jonathan) in abundance because it was the last year where I was alcohol free and thoroughly enjoying life.
Oh, I almost forgot, it was this very night during JV idol that we decided to talk about sex and our genitals. The boys for whatever reason were comparing their manhood and wanted me to display my dong first. What an odd thing to do. Boys will be boys, oh wait, no, boys will not be boys! Boys will be responsible, accountable and respectful! On that note I went to the washroom to stroke the noodle so it would look like a formidable snake when displayed, because honestly, I didn't know how I measured up to the others. They suspected what I was doing and so I ran out of the bathroom with the old Ganong's chocolates flying. The only thing I really found out was that a huge bush was not a cool thing to have. So, I laughed, and then proceeded to shave the bouncy afro in the next few days. My god it was itchy; pointless as well, because I wouldn't really see any sexual action for another year.
During try-outs for Volleyball it was palpable that there was a lot of interest in the JV Volleyball team. There were a few Grade Tens, and a considerable amount of Grade Nines. Dad and I would talk obsessively about volleyball every evening after try-outs and then naturally after practices once the team was established. We'd discuss who would be on the starting line-up, different players personalities, teams that would be our most menacing intimidating rivals, and just arbitrary dramatic happenings. Our team (Including myself obviously) could be uncontrollably foolish at times. The assistant coach (Mr. Munn) whom we all loved, would often help get the team warmed up before a match by spiking the ball repeatedly at a semi-circle of our players who were ready (theoretically) to pass the ball back to Mr. Munn. Every one of the spikes that he'd hit to us came flying through the air at supersonic speed and with not the greatest accuracy. These sessions turned into a segment of extended hilarity as we tried to retrieve the volleyball. When my best friend on the team (Geoff) and I would pepper the ball back and forth we'd often say "Mr. MUNN!!!!!" before smashing the ball at each other at the speed of light.
Now, Mr. Munn was an unreal guy, with that being said, there was a definitive evening during mid-season where my Dad told me Mr. Munn was paranoid that perhaps the boys on the team didn't like him, which threw me for a loop because on our team, he was legit, an absolute legend.
The volleyball season began to pass at a blistering pace, much like Mr. Munn's spikes. We practiced through the week almost daily and began to see our hard work and consistency paying off. We won a few tournaments and the confidence we exuded began to expand to an exponential level. Team after team we defeated, and it became indisputable that our cross-town rivals Fredericton High School (FHS) would be our most difficult challenge, FHS, and our team (LHHS) often met each other in the finals of most tournaments we attended. If I can remember correctly, we won two out of the three meetings against them during the regular season. They were consistent, powerful, and well coached.
During our initial battle against FHS our teammate "Bufus" whom I knew from childhood, made a few doe-bird (dumb) plays that are worth sharing. They were so out of the ordinary that we couldn't help but laugh. Bufus was a setter, and during an active rally, just before he set one of our hitters, he caught the ball in mid-air and started to look around the court dubiously. Everyone was perplexed and dumbfounded by what had just happened. Eyes darted this way and that looking for a reason why Bufus had just grabbed the ball. No one knew; Bufus then rolled the ball to the other team, turned around, began walking to the bench because of a time-out call, and then proceeded to detonate a massive explosion from deep within his gas filled anus. Bufus had eaten eggs that morning, it was easily discernible when you received a big old tasty whiff. Play was literally halted for an extra minute before everyone managed to compose themselves. A few plays later Bufus squatted and leaned his weight into his forefeet, he was getting ready to receive a float serve from the other team. Several players on our team yelled "out!" and Bufus squatted lower ducking his head to allow the volleyball to fly out of bounds. There was one problem, he didn't duck down low enough, and the ball struck him square in the middle of his head. I was mad initially, but was instantly brought to laughter by the reaction of the other boys. Bufus was not a bad player by any means, just a little "spaced-out" during this particular match-up.
It was eventually time for us to put all of our efforts to the test. The Provincials took place in St. John, New Brunswick at a couple different schools. Initially, we played a French School known as Mathieu Martin (MM), remember them? (slight sarcastic grunt). The game began and competition got heated when some of MM's players began to trash talk us from across the net. I was never a naturally confident competitor; however, this year and this Volleyball season were the exception. I glanced over at my buddy who was also known as a "hard hitter" and we started to give it right back to them. "we bet you don't have a good morning routine" we spat, and "I bet your dog sheds a lot of hair on your clothing" were some of our best insults. The quick look I gave my teammate said simply that they had no idea what they were in for, because we hadn't faced them yet, and at this point we knew we were good. What proceeded was the absolute mental and physical destruction of MM. It was during this game that we just meshed, all of our repetition in practices and games melded together. Our setter would consistently put the ball right in my sweet spot, and as I made my approach and became air born it was evident that MM was going to have some issues. I aimed with my left hand and came through with my right hammering the ball through the blocks and to the floor. My athleticism was at its peak.
I certainly wasn't the only athlete crushing balls (volleyballs you sicko). Our middle hitter could really smack a volleyball. We were now on the third set of our match against MM, our setter placed the ball perfectly within in our middle hitters range, he rose up over the ball with his awkward approach, and it quickly became obvious to everyone that he was going to rock that rubber, and he did. The cylinder amalgamation hit the floor before the attack line as we celebrated and reigned supreme with consecutive wins 25-10 and 25-12 respectively.
Our next match-up was what really gave us momentum moving forward. We were scheduled to play a French School that we had had trouble with during the Regular Season. They served us a hard-fought loss at the beginning of the year, in the middle of our own gymnasium. Their power hitter was already getting looked at by Universities, but frankly at this point, I thought I was better, and our team was definitely better. We defeated them with a struggle, but oddly enough it never quite seemed like we were questioning whether we would win or not. We had them on lockdown.
Although we were confident, the thing that made us even better was the fact that we were not so cocky that we felt we didn't have to try. During each and every rally we gave all of ourselves, and great play after great play we continued to feed off of each other's energy. Our mindset was fierce, our emotions, disciplined.
—Introspection—
Perspective and outlook are critically important in every facet of life. What we think about and believe, what our inner dialogue consistently tells us, what we focus on and how we choose to act has a tremendous effect on our lives. We develop these cerebral boxes of comfort that end up becoming our prisons. Within these boxes are self-definitions of who we are, what we're capable of and what kind story envelopes our "character". Confucious said "he who says he can and he who says he can't are both usually right". This statement is so simple, yet so truthful. The more we step outside of these boxes and challenge our self-definitions the more we will realize that they are total and complete bull-shit, and they serve only to feed a fear rooted in ambivalence and lies.
I am such a happier human when I'm routinely stepping outside of my comfort zone and silencing the voice within that says it's not possible. You don't have to face a fear that seems insurmountable at this time, but rather something small. It could be itty bitty, but as long as it's a step forward who cares. I even like to write some mini goals down so I feel a sense of accomplishment at the end of the day/week.
If you're wondering how to change your thoughts, and the uncomfortable emotions that inevitably ensue afterwards, take positive action. Now, positive action is not easy. It will require you to do something that you may not feel like doing, and this aversion is powerful, but that is the way out, and the way to start molding new and more healthy thought patterns that will lead you towards a happier life, and in turn a more successful existence. When you carry out the task of doing that which you didn't want to do, you will be proud of yourself, you'll get a boost in self-esteem and your feelings of self-efficacy will ascend rapidly.
My brain would always tell me that because doing the difficult things was such a struggle, it would be that way every single time, so what's the point? That is a lie in my experience. It only gets easier from there. It took me so long to come to that reality because I was always a slave to my emotions. They were the end all and be all. Not anymore.
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Fate decided that FHS would be our opponent in the Provincial Final. Our team sat huddled together in the basement below the gymnasium in St. John High School, where the game would take place. Most of us were lying on our backs peering at the ceiling of a dimly lit locker room. Conversation was entrenched in gratitude for how far we'd come, and for the coaching we had received throughout the season. There was a steadfast earnestness in the air that spoke to the importance we placed on the upcoming match. From a silent nostalgic trance came a lone voice that began to sing the song "Donkey Riding" by "The Great Big Sea". Gradually we had learned the song over the course of the last couple of months. The boys crowded around me in a circle as the chorus began to rise up; I was the only player who knew all of the lyrics, so each time the chorus came to a close I began belting out the versus. Everyone was hooting and hollering and jumping up and down. When the song came to an end, we began repeating the words "Russ the Bus" which was of course the nickname we had given my Dad. The only real reason we used the word "bus" is because it rhymed with the short version of his name. Louder and louder we yelled "Russ the Bus, Russ the Bus". Each of us, one at a time began running up the winding staircase that led to the gymnasium above.
—Introspection—
I wonder why instances of bliss and euphoria such as this, are only truly appreciated when I look back on them. The excitement, the commitment, dedication and importance we placed on an event in time so trivial as a High School JV Provincial final. Why put so much weight and seriousness into winning a foolish game? First, we knew how much sweat and effort each one of our teammates expelled getting to this point, secondly, we had the sole experience of living on this earth for around sixteen years, and friendship, school and sports were all many of us knew, and thirdly, we felt the love and passion my Dad had for our team and for the game. Why so important to us though? It's like anything in life I suppose, if you frame it up a certain way you can make any pursuit sound stupid or ridiculous. Does it have meaning to you? Do you love it? Then don't question, just do, that is living, that is passion. And the whole looking back, nostalgic feeling we get when the experience is over and done with, that is a testament I believe to the total rapture and mindfulness of that particular moment in history. When we are totally consumed and plugged in it's hard to focus on anything else other than what's right in front of you. These memories are gold, they are what makes this life worth trekking through.
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Leo Hayes Vs. FHS JV Volleyball. The world was watching. Joe Rogan was commentating. The winners would bring home a one-million-dollar suit case full of bacteria covered loonies and used homeless man underwear. Not those fruit of the loom garbage undies, but Michael Jordan endorsed yoghurt stained Haines undies. It's also possible that the yoghurt may not have even been yoghurt. The stakes were high. The bleachers were one-sixteenth full. And it was so loud in the gymnasium you couldn't hear a pigeon grunt, well even if it was quiet you may not be able to hear a pigeon grunt.
Everyone on the team was energized, and galvanized by the woman from the Leo Hayes JV Girls team who cheered and hollered at us. The match began, FHS took an early lead. We were beyond plugged into the game, but nerves and an early deficit left remnants of deflation and unease. Over the net the ball went during one of our early rally's, a free ball, so FHS handled it with perfection and set their middle with a "quick-set". He pounded the ball down to the floor... or at least that's how I want to remember it; in actuality the ball bounced right off my head. FHS let out a roar of satisfaction as I stumbled back onto my tushy and delved into devastation. My Dad called a time-out. We huddled around him waiting for a "Remember the Titans" type monologue of cinematic majesty! He simply said, "I've said all that needs to be said over the course of the season, you boys know what to do". The boys looked around at each other with determination and competence knowing the coach had full faith in us. I took my place on the court and did my best to sink into the confidence that had gotten us this far; the confidence that fueled my reality. All I needed was one hit, just one. Slowly I moved back around to the front row and anxiously awaited my chance to contribute to the momentum of the game. Here was my opportunity; a perfect pass to our setter and a pristine delivery; a quick approach and a brief glance at the blocks before striking the ball. Through the blocks and down to the floor; a swift shuffle backwards and a welcomed sense of beneficence and glory. Off we went on a prodigious run to take the first game 26-24; it was closer than Cheech and Chong's intimate relationship.
We now had the positive propulsion that comes from a close victory. The second game was still a grind; luckily, we didn't fall behind like we did in the first game. The Provincial Final was a best of three match-up. We had won the first game, and complete victory was now within our grasp, we needed a single point. I can remember vividly, after being given a tubular backset, my friend Geoff swiping the ball off of the FHS blocks and out of bounds for the win. Elation, relief, some disbelief, overwhelming jubilation and pleasure, a plethora of the lights, illuminated and beaming." Life, I think I like you". A piece of time. Locked in and coveted. I will never forget that moment. Beautiful that I got to experience this with my teammates, but above all, my Dad. Our team flooded the middle of the gymnasium as "Russ the Bus" ran around like a hoodlum with his hands extended high in the air. A provincial championship in our grasp...
The Volleyball season was over, along with most of the other school sports and it was time for the awards ceremony at the end of the year. I won "Jr. Make Athlete of the Year". It certainly was not a joke when I said that this year was the bomb.com, CD-ROM, a hairy Mom and a sweaty thong... I got carried away. Okay so it was good. Great, Grand! I feel like I'm bragging, maybe I am, probably trying to win some brownie points before shifting into "Ben's a butthole" mode.